The early part of this week played out just like an old film. The railroad tracks were set. The train was charging with a full head of steam, and the underdog was laying on the tracks without hope of shedding his tethers and averting his impending doom. This time however, in disappointing fashion, our hero did not evade the iron monster charging toward him. Instead the unstoppable force ran right over the innocent victim spewing a cloud of filth in its wake.
In this case Rocco Mediate laid on the tracks with a slight lead, and the steel tempered force that is Tiger Woods laid waste to the absurd hopes that any of us might have had concerning an old fashion nice-guy winning the toughest tournament in the world as he is set to ride off into the sunset. Did anyone expect different?
As for the cloud of filth? Well, let’s just say Tiger’s display on Father’s Day would not have made “Pops” proud should he have been in the gallery. An explosion of emotion on the 18th green that any novice lip reader could clearly tell involved the phrase “f*** yeah!” came after he had embarrassingly thrown his clubs down on 17 in a profanity laced tirade. “Deacon” Palmer (Arnold’s Father) drove all the way to a golf course to inform his son that he would “never pick up another golf club in his life if he ever embarrassed himself and his family like he had” after seeing him do far less than Tiger did Sunday on television.
It goes without saying that Tiger has progressed as a professional golfer in the wake of his father’s passing. Many would say he has clearly separated himself as the best of all-time. Yet, the biggest reason for concern in Tiger’s life is not the knee surgery he ended his season for on Wednesday. It may be the digression Tiger has undergone since the passing of his father. His mentor, friend and very first golf buddy was more than all of those things in his life. It seems that when Earl Woods died so did one of the most important parts of his son Eldrick; the foundation from which he gained his class and character.
I explored the area of Tiger losing class a few months ago when he went berserk on a gallery when a flash bulb went off, but this goes much deeper than all of that. I will paint you a picture here. Slap this on the pallet of your minds eye and take a gander for a second. I am sitting on the living room couch father’s day afternoon with my father, grandfather and of all people my mother watching the final few holes of the US Open. My parents are conservative people, but they are not afraid to speak their minds when need be. The hard working type that gave their family everything they ever needed by the sweat of their brow and faith. Each of them watch golf for different reasons, but they all share one thing in their viewing habits and that is a love for what the game is and should continue to be. It’s a gentleman’s game. Here we are scattered about the room glued to the excitement of our hometown boy Rocco sitting in the cat-bird seat watching the “big cat” attempt to do what he shouldn’t be able to do.
As Tiger comes up to the 17th tee we watched him hit an arrant tee shot into a fairway bunker. It took little more than 3 seconds for the camera shot to leave Tiger and stay off of him for a bit. I looked at my dad and said “the networks have learned their lesson with Tiger. They know they have a short window to show Tiger’s expression before the four letter words start flying.” He looked at me puzzled and asked if I was serious. Without question the next few moments proved my statement. He proceeded to hit a poor shot from the bunker on 17 and slam his club into the sand. I will give him a pass here his knee had to be throbbing and he was frustrated. The ensuing actions of the television shot going away and then coming back to him throwing his club down on the bag while swearing and pouting like a small child that didn’t get his way was ridiculous. My grandfather, a quiet old Italian man who is no stranger to a hot-headed response to anything having grown up Ghotti sat and shook his head in disgust, as my dad muttered something about getting the poor baby a diaper and a pacifier to calm down his tantrum.
By the end of the round Tiger had sunk a put to tie Rocco Mediate and force a playoff, but he brought my mother out of her seat as he went on to scream F-Yeah in the face of his caddie. “Did he say what I think he said?” my mother asked in disbelief. I was hopeful that the lip reading we had all done was the result of our amateur skills, but as they replayed it over and over and over again we got to enjoy reliving the moment enough times be sure my mother no longer liked Tiger Woods. Though the men were less animated I watched them closely. My grandfather still shaking his head rolled his eyes and looked at my dad who shrugged back in disbelief. “What do you think about that Pap?” my dad asked? The old man began to deliver an Ode to the game of golf that comes from countless afternoons watching the guys knock it around. I believe the words “disrespectful”, “classless” and “it never used to be this way” highlighted his speech.
The bottom-line here is simple. No one is perfect, and I am the last person to claim to be so. I do however have the respect and the class it takes to do my job with a level of dignity and pride in the tradition of my profession. That is why I am still sitting here with a hope that the underdog will rise from an impossible situation, screaming like old Mickey did on the side of the boxing ring in the Rocky movies. “Come on Rocco. Come on!” It’s not going to happen. Tiger hoisted the trophy, but once just once it would be nice if something could derail the filth spewing, unstoppable machine that is Tiger Woods.
Maybe we should be shouting come on Tiger! Quit acting like a bum and regain the character your father instilled in you your whole life! Dang it Tiger, Come On. You’re BETTER THAN THIS!!!!
